


Breathe into Your Well

by imperfectkreis



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Hand Feeding, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: Contains spoilers regarding Dishonored 2, Mission 7, A Crack in the Slab.Delilah brought herself back through a ritual in Stilton's Manor three years ago, causing a rift in the Void. Some of the consequences are ill. Some of them the Outsider finds very amusing.





	

Corvo watches the Jindosh lock spin open, listening to the click of sliding gears, housed within the heavy metal door. Through the passage, he’ll finally be able to make his way to Stilton’s Manor. Finding the combination took longer than he anticipated. But at least he avoided a potentially messy allegiance with either the Vice Overseer or Paolo. Small victories. Corvo counts them every day.

Slowing his breathing, he listens again. Corvo worries that someone has followed him. But no one saw his approach. No one. He’s safe. For now.

His back aches and his knees are sore. There are yellowing bruises along his legs and arms, covered by his trousers and coat. Corvo Attano is not as young as he used to be, and while he can still move with grace unparalleled, the impact of each precisely timed landing is tearing up the remaining cartilage in his joints. His body is falling to pieces. 

The door opens and Corvo can finally make his way through to Stilton’s Manor. He’s not sure what he expected, given the rumors, but somehow, not this. The manor lies in ruins, stone pillars overturned, cracked through to iron bones. Weeds have overgrown their planters, spilling into cascading waterfalls of choking foliage. Under different circumstances, Corvo might find them beautiful in their decay.

Though he sees no sign of guards, Corvo still approaches the front steps with caution. He hears long claws scratching against the stone pathways. Hounds, with untrimmed nails, who have survived on scraps as the manor disintegrated all around them. He doesn’t know which is kinder, to put them to sleep with darts, or out of their misery. 

If he is quiet enough, perhaps they won’t be roused. Better to save his bolts, in case there is still anyone inside. Though, he can’t imagine how anyone could be living here. Stilton...Stilton is supposed to be. But with each step towards the ruined facade, Corvo finds that less and less likely. 

Managing to sneak past the dogs, Corvo opens and closes the front door behind him, breathing shallowly as he scans the darkness. Light filters in through broken windows, casting shadows against the ruins.

Standing to his full height, Corvo appraises the front entryway. Potential paths forward are blocked by debris, overturned furniture, collapsed walls, iron bars someone fitted recently into otherwise empty archways. In the distance, he can hear bloodflies humming. Otherwise, the house is silent. 

He creeps ahead, climbing quietly over rucked over tables, smashed chairs, through the only gap that looks passable. He has to find out what happened here. At minimum, he needs to find Stilton, or his body. 

There has to be some clue, some instinct, some indication of where he needs to go, rather than just following the path laid out before him. Corvo could become lost in this house, trapped within the maze of wreckage, not a soul to seek him out. Foster and Sokolov may notice him missing, lament that their last best hope to set things right has fallen, but neither of them can come after him. They're not capable.

Corvo presses on.

How could the manor deteriorate so quickly? Three years? That is all? The house looks an age destroyed, holes in the floor and ceiling, thick dust blanketed every exposed surface.

For a moment, the sound of bloodflies fades and then Corvo hears it. A man, speaking in hushed tones, repeating himself, swaying side to side. Someone is alive. Stilton is alive.

Corvo tries to follow the noise, coming up against a door barred from the other side. He has to double back around. He finds and loses the thread of speech, trying to work his way towards the voice.

Finally, finally, he finds a gap in the floor, a giant hole leading down. Directly beneath him is a grand piano, and Stilton’s voice shuddering as he taps out-of-tune keys.

He has to jump down to reach Stilton, but he doesn't want to land on the piano. His weight might break it. More trouble than he needs right now. He aims his jump precisely, trying to soak the impact through his whole body, not just his tired knees. 

As he hops back to his feet, he readies his blade, unsure how Stilton will react. 

The scene before Corvo’s eyes is dire, haunting.

Stilton is a man decaying. His hair long and tangled, his hands and face dirty. Though Corvo was largely silent as he landed, from Stilton’s position at the piano, he should have seen Corvo fall. But still, he remains unmoved.

“Aramis Stilton?” Corvo asks, standing tall and taking a gentle step forward. Stilton only shakes his head, going back to mumbling to himself, trailing fingers over piano keys.

And then.

It stops.

The world goes gray and Corvo feels cold mist filling up his lungs, replacing the oxygen he needs to breathe. The air smells of salt and flowers. 

The Outsider is here.

“Aramis Stilton lost part of his mind, that evening, three years ago,” the Outsider leans against the piano, arms folded over his chest. His black hair drifts down to cover his forehead. Though his lips move, his finely carved, youthful features are otherwise impassive.

Corvo says nothing.

Pushing himself away from the piano, the Outsider crosses his hands behind his back, pacing the room. His eyes refocus to meet Corvo’s, then back again, as if studying the walls. “That was the night they brought Delilah back, the way she had always intended,” the Outsider shakes his head. “But they ruined Stilton in the process. And they ruined this place, this time.”

Finally standing still, the Outsider tilts his head, black eyes bright. Corvo knows well enough that this both is, and isn't the Void. It's a meshing, merging of the two. This is a place that should not be. The evidence was all around Corvo, from the moment he set foot on Stilton’s grounds.

“The Void isn't a place, not really. It's inside you, even now...even,” the Outsider’s eyes flick away from Corvo’s face, to his unmarked hand. The gift given, taken away, refused the second time. “The ritual put a pinprick hole here in Stilton’s Manor and the Void seeps through. Nothing is right here, Corvo. You, Stilton, magic, the Void.”

“You,” Corvo rasps, “you're not right here either.”

The Outsider furrows his brow, “No. I'm not.” Frowning, he continues, “you would feel it too, more acutely. The way the world is broken here, had you taken back my gift.”

Shifting from foot to foot, the Outsider conjures something more. The magic acts so quickly, Corvo barely registers what is happening. He blinks and then it is done, “this one, you cannot refuse.”

The object is not unlike the Heart. Hidden away in Corvo’s coat, pressed between his undershirt and outer layers for safekeeping, he can feel it throb against his chest. He presses his hand over it, staring into the Outsider’s new contraption. 

A tightly wound mass of clock faces and gears, Corvo can see the whale bone lodged in its center. Everywhere else, it is smooth and silver, humming with frictionless motion. At the top, it fans out, like glass feathers. Within the plumes, he can see yellow light. The only color left in the room.

When Corvo tears his eyes from the center, he looks back to the Outsider, standing behind his Timepiece, his invention.

Another gift.

With the angle, the Timepiece seems to settle in the center of the Outsider’s chest, an industrial heart for a being who ceased walking as flesh millennia ago. Corvo aches quite suddenly, watching the Timepiece spin. 

The Outsider holds his hands on either side of the device, not touching it, letting it hang in the air between his outstretched palms. His feet are still just above the floor, letting him tower over Corvo in the quiet of frozen time. 

“Take it, Corvo. Take it, and see what Delilah and her devoted did.”

Reaching out with both hands, Corvo slots his hands between the Outsider’s and the Timepiece, ready to take. The Outsider closes his hands over Corvo’s as he does.

The Outsider’s hands are warm.

Around them, the room flashes, going from dark and gray to awash in warm light, from candles and the lamps. The room is restored to how it must have been three years ago. The piano perfectly polished, every book in place, a silver tray of fruit on the windowsill. 

But that is not what causes Corvo pause. 

The Outsider smirks back at him, his heated hands still curled around Corvo’s rougher ones, the Timepiece cradled safely.

“Magic is distorted here,” the Outsider repeats. “Most of the effects are ill. But I'm not sure this one is?”

Looking down, Corvo confirms that the Outsider’s feet are flat on the ground in shiny patent shoes. They are, though he is still two inches taller than Corvo. Thinner, though, with narrow hips and a shallow chest.

The black has receded from his eyes, leaving stark whites around warm brown irises. Still, when Corvo looks closely at the Outsider’s pupils, there is an unnatural light permeating through the darkness.

“It's not polite to stare,” the Outsider drolls. 

Corvo shakes his head, “So, what, you're here to babysit me? I thought you treasured free will.” Finally breaking eye contact, Corvo looks around the room. Stilton has vanished. They are alone, the fireplace flickering and lit, even though the Serkonos climate rarely calls for the extra heat. 

“I'm here to help,” the Outsider hisses, pulling his hands off of Corvo’s. “Since you will not accept my aid in any other fashion.”

Only then does the Outsider scan the room as well. Seemingly marveled by its warm tactility, he reaches out, running his fingers over every surface he can reach, the wood and fabric of high backed, firmly stuffed chairs, the cut-glass decanters, the ivory piano keys.

“Fine,” Corvo relents. “So this…” he holds the Timepiece in front of his face, trying to get a good look at the piece of bone inside. It's not a rune. Perhaps a bone charm? “Will allow us to move through time?”

“Only to this moment, and the one you have just left,” the Outsider explains. “More than that and it grew unstable.”

“Can others see it?” The device is very beautiful, and while not particularly large, the mirrors that allow Corvo to see back into the present day make it obvious and somewhat cumbersome.

The Outsider explains, “Like the Heart...it both is and isn't. We are the only ones who can see it. And before you ask,” the Outsider continues, “no, we cannot prevent Delilah's…’rebirth.’ The ritual must take place. But there are other, subtle things you may be able to alter.”

Reaching into the bowl on the table, the Outsider plucks an apple, rosy red overtaking the green patches, still speckled across the surface. The fruit was picked in Gristol before it was fully ripe, just to make its way to Stilton’s ornate bowl before it rotted.

The Outsider digs the nail of his index finger into the waxy skin, puncturing it with an audible snap. Clear juice oozes from the wound. Bringing the apple close to his face, the Outsider sniffs it, before scowling and putting it back in the bowl.

“Someone may have wanted to eat that,” Corvo says.

The Outsider only tisks, telling Corvo, “Take off your mask.”

“I'll be recognized,” Corvo states the obvious.

“We’re at a party held by one of the most influential men in Karnaca.” The Outsider steps forward, straightening the lapels of Corvo’s coat before pushing down his hood and trying to fuss with his hair, setting it in place around Corvo’s shoulders, carding his fingers through it to work the loose curls open. “And you are one of the most influential men in the Empire. If not the most.” The mask, he does not touch.

“I'm not,” Corvo corrects. 

“Your daughter is Empress, Corvo. You are Royal Protector. Unless three years ago Emily took a husband I know nothing about, there is no man more more widely known, more likely to have his favor courted, than you.” Seemingly satisfied with Corvo’s appearance, the Outsider returns his hands to behind his back. “Now let's play good party guests, shall we?”

Corvo laughs, “this is madness. Why would I be here at all? And who are you supposed to be?”

“You may be here for whatever reason you choose. It will make Delilah’s faithful nervous, when they learn you are here, but they will have no choice but to continue the ritual. It is already past the point of stopping.” Holding up the silver bowl this time, the Outsider looks at his own reflection in the mirrored surface, shoving his hair to one side against his forehead until he is happy with it. “As for myself. I've arrived at the party with you. Nothing else will concern them.”

“They’ll talk,” Corvo says.

The Outsider smiles, “There is always talk when you are involved, dear Corvo.”

Knowing he has lost this battle, Corvo unlatches his mask, hooking it to the inside of his coat and out of sight. The Outsider busies himself, rearranging Corvo’s hair again. Fingers brushing against Corvo’s temples, his neck. Apparently, removing the mask changes his appraisal of Corvo’s looks. 

“I need a name,” Corvo realizes.

“A name?”

“For you. I need a name for you.”

The Outsider huffs, “whatever suits you. I have no preference.”

Corvo balks at the notion of choosing a name for the Outsider, even if it is merely a ruse to get them through the evening. But already frustrated with the Outsider’s antics, he drops the question entirely for the time being.

Reaching for the door, he finds it locked. Corvo crouches down, peering through the keyhole. There are three guards pacing the hall.

“This door is not here in the present,” the Outsider comments, poking at the timepiece, again in Corvo’s hand. The mirrors open wide, and Corvo can see through them into the present day. There is a gate, the one Paolo’s people erected to keep Stilton confined to the lounge. But it's positioned in such a way, that with shifting back and forth, Corvo and the Outsider can seamlessly make their way out of the lounge. 

Corvo activates the Timepiece, launching them both into the present. With a look back at the befuddled Stilton, he presses himself close to the metal bars. The Outsider tucks in beside him, almost touching, though there is plenty of room. He shifts again, and they are three years in the past.

“Hey! You there!” a guard shouts, stalking over.

Straightening his posture, Corvo faces the guard head on. He projects as much confidence as he can muster. Though, the Outsider must know Corvo is...not much for formal occasions. He can hold himself at attention, answer politely, dance as much as necessary. He knows all the proper bits of cutlery for every meal. There is a seemingly endless catalog of niceties Corvo was forced to learn when he first arrived in Dunwall, brash and coarse and all of eighteen. Still high on his new status within the Empire, Corvo learned all the proper manners the Emperor could force upon him before his death. But that does not mean he is particularly keen on executing civility. 

“Oh…” the guard stutters, recognizing Corvo, “Lord Protector...I suppose, uh...I didn't see you arrive, is all,” the guard scratches the back of his neck, his posture relaxing slightly. He must remember Corvo’ rank, and stands up straight again. “Forgive me...sir.” 

“I was not invited,” Corvo tries to come up with something reasonable to say. “But I was in Karnaca, and heard there was to be an event here, tonight.”

“Let me get the host,” the guard offers, scrambling away.

Corvo’s first instinct is to move, to vanish before this “host” arrives. He anticipates it being Stilton himself. And, despite what the Outsider claims, their presence will cause the man to take defensive measures. But the Outsider lays one hand on Corvo’s arm, urging him to be still, be calm. And together, they wait for the host.

A man arrives, neatly dressed, his beard trimmed close to his face. He appears to be just on the other side of forty, trim and attractive enough. Smiling brightly when he sees Corvo and the Outsider, he introduces himself as Josep, and apologizes for Stilton not being able to greet them himself.

“You are always welcome here, Lord Protector,” Josep smiles, “the guards and servants have been made aware of your presence, you should not be hassled again,” tilting his head in a gesture reminiscent of a younger man, he asks the Outsider, “and, I apologize, your name?” 

The Outsider, despite, or perhaps because of, the pallor of his skin, blushes high on his cheeks. He looks away as if out of shyness, then back at Josep. “Carwyn,” he offers, “I am here to aid the Lord Protector,” he keeps his voice soft, barely above a whisper.

“Ah,” Josep smiles fondly, “I see. If you need anything more, do not hesitate to ask for me. And I do hope Aramis will be able to meet with you personally, shortly.” Excusing himself, Josep disappears down the corridor, leaving Corvo and the Outsider to their own devices.

The hallway now devoid of guards, Corvo hisses, “What was that about?”

“What?” the Outsider asks, his face pale and voice expressionless again.

“Why were you acting like that? As if you…” he does not even know how to describe the Outsider’s strange behavior.

The Outsider smiles back at him, “I had to come up with something quickly. I assure you, Josep Talbot will no longer be suspicious of me. He has already made up his mind.”

“Fine,” Corvo has no choice now but to follow the Outsider’s lead. “What was that name you gave again?”

“Carwyn."

“Carwyn,” Corvo repeats, feeling out the syllables on his tongue, “was it…”

“No,” the Outsider cuts him off firmly. “I only like the name. In a thousand years, if I do this again, maybe I will take your name instead, dear Corvo.”

A well of jealousy pushes out of Corvo’s throat, “was Carwyn ‘dear’ as well?”

The faint grin on the Outsider’s lips does not waver, but his eyes do, shifting to black for a moment, “only you are ever dear.”

They can't remain in this hallway any longer. If they are to pretend to be visiting the Stilton Manor as guests, they must act the part. “Follow me,” Corvo instructs. He cannot be seen with the Outsider leading him around. He is the Royal Protector, and the Outsider is only ‘Carwyn.’ “Let's see what we can hear.”

“Of course, Lord Protector,” the Outsider blushes bright again.

As they walk towards the main entertaining rooms, the Outsider stays a half-step behind Corvo, his hands neatly folded in front of him and posture straight. There is something mocking in the Outsider’s deferential demeanor, but perhaps only Corvo realizes this, knowing full well who the quiet, blushing stranger really is.

The gossip begins almost as soon as they enter the banquet hall. Minor aristocracy gathered around serving trays, liquor in their hands, everyone has something to say about their host, the deterioration of Karnaca under the current Duke, the Empress’ habits, whatever petty topic comes to mind.

It is not long before Corvo is noticed. 

“The sour looking man in his dark, heavy coat looks somehow familiar,” a guest comments.

Yes, one of the women replies, her trousers are cut a half-inch too short, showing off her knobby ankles, “I heard the servants talking. It's the Royal Protector.”

“But he has not set foot in Karnaca since he was a boy.”

“When Empress Jessamine last sent him away from Dunwall, she ended up dead.”

“Foolishness would have killed her, in any case.”

They think they speak quietly enough. They think that Corvo cannot hear.

Corvo scowls into a serving tray, set upon a circular table, starched linens and each slice of tomato placed precisely against blanched white bread.

“Why? Do you not find Lord Attano handsome? I have always thought so from the drawings?”

“Certainly. Only Empress Jessamine was so lovely. And as a young woman, it is better that Empress Emily got her mother’s looks.”

“You speak as though you saw her in the flesh…”

“Well...no.”

None of this helps them, not a word. Corvo must find Stilton, the combination to his door. The ritual that was held this night, three years ago, there must be some way…

His attention snaps back to the Outsider, who skims his fingers down Corvo’s back, barely perceptible through the layers of Corvo’s coat, jacket, and shirt.

“Pay them no mind,” the Outsider says, his voice soft again.

“I'm not,” Corvo relaxes his shoulders. He can do this, he must act naturally, not like an overwrought fool.

“Of course, the problem is, we must listen.”

“We are always listening,” it feels like a private joke between the two of them.

A servant rushes over to greet them, her enthusiasm apparent. Then again, it may be merely practiced, a survival mechanism to get herself through the evening in one piece, perhaps with extra coin in her pocket if she smiles prettily enough. 

She asks the Lord Protector what he may like to drink. Knowing his tolerance for liquor well enough, he asks for whiskey mixed with water. In her rush, she almost forgets to ask the Outsider if he would like a drink as well, but catches herself before she disappears back to the kitchens.

“And for you?” she asks politely, waiting for the Outsider to respond.

Corvo realizes that this time, the Outsider is truly flustered, not simply putting on a show. He opens and closes his mouth, before frowning, a wrinkle forming between his eyes, offset by otherwise unnaturally smooth skin. 

“He will take wine,” Corvo interrupts, trying to hurry the servant off. Void, if Corvo himself does not give them away, the Outsider surely will.

Once she is gone, the Outsider huffs, as if he had the situation perfectly under control. He didn’t.

“I can choose what I like,” the Outsider insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

Corvo rolls his eyes, “Of course you can.”

It is easier to blend in after their drinks arrive. Holding the whiskey glass gives Corvo something to do with his hands, other than restlessly reach for the hilt of his blade. At the very least, the Outsider knows how to hold his wine glass, even if he is hesitant to place it to his lips.

Corvo sips from his whiskey, the liquor running warm down the back of his throat. The taste blooms on his tongue, pleasant, but not overwhelming. It is not as fine a bottle as the one he keeps in his quarters at Dunwall. But it is passible for the grandeur of the event. 

The guests resume talk of their own affairs, and very little about Stilton. Corvo needs only to discover where Stilton is at this moment. From there, he can find his way to the ritual. Surely, though, the Outsider must know. He has seen this all before. But standing in the crowded hall, Corvo cannot ask him directly.

“Does the wine not suit you?” Corvo asks, trying to maintain their cover. Whatever that exactly consists of.

The Outsider looks down his glass. He has yet to taste from it. “The smell is...strong.”

Corvo passes the Outsider his glass of whiskey, now only half full, and takes the wine glass from the Outsider’s hands. Putting it to his nose, he smells, sharp and acidic. Corvo is no expert in wine, but nothing appears amiss with the glass. He takes a sip from it, finding it satisfactory, but he knows little other than that. 

“It’s...fine?” Corvo offers, handing the glass back to the Outsider and taking his glass back. He washes away the taste with another gulp of whiskey.

The Outsider hesitates. He puts the rim of the glass to his lips, sipping down the smallest amount possible. Once the taste touches his tongue he pulls back the glass, frowning at it, as if it has caused him a great offence. 

Corvo cannot help but laugh, though he tries to maintain his composure. 

“It’s not funny.” The Outsider sets the still-full glass on the nearest table, next to a plate of bread and hard cheese. 

Corvo brushes his hand against the Outsider’s arm, still disturbed by the resistance of the solid body beside him. They have touched before, in the Void, soft, fleeting glances. Once, the Outsider took Corvo’s hand between both of his own. That was when Corvo was still Marked. But those encounters...never felt like this. The Outsider was never warm, solid. In the Void, he had a texture unlike anything else Corvo could compare. Sensation manifests differently in the Void. And Corvo wonders if the Outsider is always so alive, he’s just never noticed before.

“Stay here. Enjoy the food,” Corvo urges. He will move more swiftly alone. 

The Outsider tilts his head, the redness spreading over his face again, “I intended to stay with you.” He’s playing pretend. And Corvo knows full well what it is he’s suggesting, to all the people in the room. The ones still stealing glances at them, in between snippets of conversation with their peers. 

“I am not leaving,” Corvo assures, “I only wish to speak to some of the guests. Your hovering around won’t help.”

The Outsider smiles, “I will do the same then,” he threatens. 

“Fine.” Corvo does not have the time or patience to argue any further. If the Outsider wishes to expose them, Corvo will cut his way through this party, hold Stilton by the throat and demand answers. It would not be his preferred way of managing this situation. But bloody hands remain an option. 

Corvo need not initiate conversations. More than a few guests hurry to speak to him, once he leaves the Outsider’s orbit. They had been deliberately staying away. Corvo wonders if they can sense that something isn’t quite right about his ‘assistant.’

“What a surprise to see you here, Lord Protector,” the aristocrat in front of him smiles with yellowed teeth. He is a heavy smoker, stinking of cigars. The woman to his left must not like smell, but she hides her distaste well, her mouth only screwing up when her partner flails his arms, the odor radiating off his suit jacket. “A very pleasant one.”

Corvo does not bother smiling, it would be out of character of him. This is simply a party for the wealthy. He has been to many such events. Though he is not accompanied by an Empress this time, but a wayward god, standing in the corner and staring down the cheese plate as if curdled milk is what is most miraculous about this whole affair. 

“I had business in Karnaca. And once I arrived, this party was all anyone spoke about.”

The lady smiles at him, her teeth are white underneath full lips. She painted her mouth earlier, but much of the pigment has come off onto her wine glass. “It’s been on our social calendars for months, Lord Protector. It really is an honor to meet you. So rarely does one get the opportunity. Let me introduce myself, Gillian Flavian.” 

“Yes…of course,” Corvo scrambles for a question, “Have you seen Stilton this evening? I intended to speak with him personally.”

She purses her lips, taking another sip from her glass before answering. Her wine is a lighter pink color, compared to the deep, blackened-red that the Outsider was served, “I heard he was in the veranda, in the central courtyard. But I appologize, I do not know the way there. This is only my second visit to the manor.”

“Ah,” Corvo glances back to where he left the Outsider. Horror shocks down his spine when he sees the Outsider engaged in conversation with a young aristocrat. The Outsider is smiling at him, tight-lipped and anxious. It was a mistake to leave him alone. “If you would excuse me, Lady Flavian.”

“Oh,” she responds, with the barest trace of displeasure, “of course.”

Corvo strides back to the Outsider’s side. From a distance, it was difficult for Corvo to determine if the Outsider’s discomfort is genuine or merely an aspect of his performance. Now that he is closer, he realizes he worried over nothing. While the Outsider still holds tension in his shoulders, the speed at which he relaxes after catching Corvo’s eyes, a smile broadening over his features, makes it clear this is only pretend.

“Lord Protector,” the Outsider says with feigned awe. 

The aristocrat who has engaged the Outsider in conversation remains unmoved, his liquor glass in one hand and his other on his hip. His blond hair is clipped close to his skull and his eyes a piercing blue. “Lord Protector,” he comments, “it is such an honor to meet you.”

Corvo assumes he will have to get used to being polite, no matter how many times he hears the same tepid praise.

“Carwyn tells me you are hoping to secure access to the mines? Nasty business, I think. Terrible for the workers.”

“Stilton is said to treat them well,” the Outsider argues. “Oh,” he makes introductions, “this is Brian Locke. A transplant from Morley.”

Locke offers his hand to Corvo, who has little choice but to accept it, shaking firmly. Corvo finds he has nothing else to say to the man, who stares back at him, undeterred. Finally, breaking the silence, Locke reaches into his coat pocket, producing a card stamped with bold, black lettering. _Brian Locke, Jeweler and Engraver_.

“Perhaps our Empress will be in need of a trinket or two. I cannot claim to be the best in the Empire. But it never hurts to try, when given the opportunity.” 

Excusing himself, Locke disappears back into the crowd of guests, inserting seamlessly into another conversation.

Corvo turns to glare at the Outsider, who only rocks back on his heels in response, hands still clasped behind his back.

“What was that about?” Corvo asks.

The Outsider reminds him, “I said I was going to make conversation. Stilton is in the veranda, if you wish to meet with him. Though I warn you, we should be more subtle.”

Corvo does his best to keep the obvious anger out of his voice, “We are being subtle.”

The Outsider shrugs.

Scoffing, Corvo nonetheless realizes that the Outsider is right. He needs time to form a plan, compile more information about the layout of Stilton’s home. 

His drink now empty, the servant comes by, asking if he would like another glass. He should refuse. But Corvo knows his tolerance. If they are to remain in the banquet hall for another half an hour, a second drink won’t impair him. Forty-five minutes, and he can take three. Beyond that, it does not matter the time, his reflexes will be somewhat dulled, though still superior to that of most guardspeople.

Accepting the offer of a second whiskey, Corvo also asks the servant for a glass of the same wine Lady Flavian is drinking. The Outsider raises his eyebrows, but does not object.

“Here,” Corvo insists, “we should eat something.” If their mouths are full, maybe they will be less likely to say something incriminating. 

The Outsider does not argue, staring back down at the cheese plate that so caught his attention earlier. Corvo keeps his volume low, as their conversation must sound strange to unfamiliar ears. “It’s cheese.”

“I know that, Lord Protector,” defiantly, the Outsider reaches forward, picking up a blue-speckled piece, cut into a perfect cube. Before he can toss the whole thing into his mouth, he hesitates, instead biting right at the corner. His face pinches. The rest of the cube he balls loosely in his fist.

The servant arrives with their second round of drinks. Corvo takes both glasses, trying to hurry her away. “Just put the rest of it in a napkin, if you do not like it,” Corvo instructs. He’s not going to force the Outsider to eat if he doesn’t want to.

“It’s rancid,” the Outsider says. Now that he’s been found out, he holds the remains of the cube in front of Corvo’s face. Only the barest corner has been nibbled off. 

“It’s cheese,” Corvo repeats. That should explain everything. The Outsider knows what cheese is. Even if he’s unfamiliar with the taste. Corvo passes him the glass of rosé, hoping it will be milder, more suited to his palate than the red. 

The Outsider takes the glass, but only after passing Corvo the piece of cheese. Sighing, Corvo goes ahead and eats the rest, popping it into his mouth in one go. It may have been a lifetime ago, but he still remembers going to bed hungry, his sister crying in her sleep with her stomach empty. Wasting food still fills him with uneasy dread, though he has enjoyed three decades of contented stomachs. 

While the Outsider holds his wine glass carefully, he still does not try to drink. Corvo doesn’t push him on the subject, at least not yet. At least he can manage to hold this one, without finding the mere smell offensive. 

“We’ll find you something,” Corvo insists, tugging at the Outsider’s sleeve to follow.

The Outsider scowls, “Find me what?”

“Something you’ll enjoy eating.” 

Corvo listens while they walk. Having a fussy ‘assistant’ is perhaps as valid an excuse as any to visit each table, sampling fruit and tiny pastries from different platters. Still, he tries to select locations that are not overcrowded, giving them a measure of privacy, while still within earshot of continuing conversation. 

Plucking a slice of apple from an arrangement, Corvo hopes the taste is subtle enough. He takes one of the small plates, stacked at the side of the table, putting the apple down and searching for a knife. If the Outsider doesn’t like the taste, Corvo can finish eating it himself. There is only a butter knife available, but with a little force, Corvo chops off a smaller morsel for the Outsider to try.

“Here,” Corvo holds up the piece between two fingers, offering it to the Outsider, “apple.”

“Oh,” someone must be watching them with interest, because the Outsider plays the docile boy again, reaching out tentatively and plucking the apple from between his fingers. He puts the morsel in his mouth, sucking out the juice but not yet biting down. “It’s so sour,” he mumbles around the fruit.

Corvo takes that as indication enough that he should eat the rest of the slice himself. It is tart, but Corvo likes the bite of it, crisp and clean against his tongue. It compliments the whiskey well. As he chews, the Outsider watches with rapt attention. 

To their left, a servant mentions needing two glasses of hard liquor to take to the veranda. One for Stilton and one for a guest. Their supervisor says to hurry back. If Corvo loiters long enough, he can calculate at least how far away the courtyard is from their current position. 

Next he finds a slice of pear, softer, riper than the apple was. He should have known the Outsider would not like the apple, given his reaction earlier in the lounge. But the pear should be sweeter, though the texture will be grainy. Again he cuts a smaller fraction away from the whole, juice dripping over his fingers as he slices. When he looks back to the Outsider, the fruit in his hand, the Outsider smiles back at him.

“You’re so indulgent, Lord Protector.” His title still sounds foreign in the Outsider’s voice. But it would be wholly inappropriate for the Outsider to call him ‘Corvo’ here. No assistant would be so bold, even if Corvo himself cares little for formalities. 

He holds out the pear, “Try it.”

Instead of taking the piece in his own hand, the Outsider dips his head forward, brushing his soft lips against Corvo’s fingers, tounging the bit of fruit into his mouth. The contact is sudden, but brief. No eyes must be upon them. Or perhaps all eyes are. Because there is a moment of silence Corvo cannot place, a roaring in his ears. Just as swiftly, the Outsider rocks back, his brown eyes bright, mischievous. “The texture is...unpleasant.”

“You’re just too picky,” Corvo huffs, taking his glass off the table and sipping to cover up the smile creeping across his mouth. He finishes off the pear himself, though it doesn’t suit his tastes as much as the apple does. 

A man two tables over makes a comment, that he shouldn’t be shocked by such behavior in the Stilton Manor, but he is surprised that the Royal Protector would be so brazen. Another voice chides him, saying that they are all allowed a bit of fun. What Corvo wants to hear is if the servant has returned. 

“Maybe not fruit then,” Corvo concedes his loss. While this started as a way to pass the time, while observing the other guests, picking up on subtle information cues, he now genuinely wishes to find something to the Outsider’s tastes. It is clear enough that the Outsider does not often have opportunities such as these, and providing him with a small comfort feels...worth the effort.

Corvo directs them towards a tray of tiny, baked pastries, many of them drizzled with honey and powdered with sugar. Ignoring the ones stuffed with fruit, Corvo selects one baked through with butter, leaving the pastry flaky and light. It is probably filled with a honey paste, since it is golden-bright all the way through. There is no easy way to slice it into pieces. Tearing it apart seems the better option.

They are close to the other guests here, and while the chatter does not die down, Corvo knows they are being watched. The Outsider stares at him, with what could only be described as quiet anticipation, almost a challenge for Corvo to act, here with eyes upon them. 

Corvo tears the pastry in half. It is small to begin with, flaky crumbs falling against the black of his coat. He holds out one section for the Outsider to sample. Exposed like this, the Outsider does not eat the dessert directly from Corvo’s outstretched hand, but does let their fingers brush against each other in a moment of passing intimacy. 

Corvo’s fingers are sticky.

The Outsider only nibbles at the corner first, a smile darting to the corners of his mouth. He takes a bigger bite, proclaiming quietly, “this is wonderful.”

Corvo smiles, passing the Outsider the other half. Truthfully, Corvo finds the honey sweets too cloying. But he is glad the Outsider enjoys them. Corvo does lick the excess honey off his own fingers, removing the stickiness clinging to his skin.

The servant returns. Their supervisor does not scold them, suggesting that they did not dally along their route. Corvo manages to catch the direction that they came from. Dividing the time in half, he has a fairly good idea of how long it should take to reach their destination, meaning that spotting wrong turns should be easy.

Covo finishes off his whiskey in a single gulp. The Outsider has yet to try his wine, frowning, Corvo tells him, “Take it with you. I’d like to see the rest of the manor.”

The Outsider does not object. 

Before they leave, Corvo grabs another pastry, handing it to the Outsider. He should enjoy the sweets while he can.

No one stops them as they head down the hallway, exiting the banquet rooms. The Outsider still stays half a step behind, but Corvo cannot shake the unease of being followed, even if he knows it is only the Outsider at his back. “Walk with me,” his tongue curls up before he can say ‘Carwyn.’ That is not the Outsider’s name. He will not call him that unless absolutely necessary. 

They pass hall after hall of closed doors. Corvo’s curiosity draws him to each lock. But they are supposed to be polite guests, not petty thieves. 

“You should try your wine,” Corvo says, trying to keep the guards from staring at them too long. While they are not confined to the ballrooms, few guests venture deeper into the manor, content to stay where the food and liquor flows.

The Outsider scowls at the glass, probably still affronted by the red. But he follows Corvo’s instructions, taking a meager sip. While he doesn’t look pleased, he also doesn't appear gravely offended, “It’s...better.”

“Good,” Corvo comments. He won’t make the Outsider drink any more. But he maintains a smug satisfaction that he was able to discern the Outsider’s tastes so quickly. More than that, he is glad to have provided the Outsider with some measure of pleasure, while they are here.

But their priority must be reaching the ritual. So that Corvo can see what the Outsider already knows. Delilah pierced through to the Void here. Leaking. That is how the Outsider described it. The Void seeping through a pinprick hole in this house.

Weeks ago, when Corvo and the Outsider first met again, after fifteen years of silence, the Outsider said that Delilah is a part of him now. He doesn’t like it. But how? Questions swim in Corvo’s head as he watches the Outsider, in flesh and bone, take another hesitant sip from his wine glass, the rosè no doubt sweet. Lamplight falls against his face, carving out hollows and peaks of his structures.

The Outsider is beautiful. Corvo has always known this. 

But he has never had time to dwell on it.

“We should find our host,” placing his hand at the small of the Outsider’s back, he urges them forward. The guards glance at Corvo’s hand, but say nothing.

With little more than timing and intuition, Corvo navigates Stilton’s hallways. Honestly, after prowling around the guts inside Jindosh’s clockwork house, finding the inner courtyard of Stilton’s home is a breeze. The manor’s architecture is simple, logical. It makes Corvo wonder if, when Stilton hired his decorator, he gave explicit instructions to go against his own aesthetic. Or if it is the blueprints that clash with the man instead.

Once they reach the open air, the Outsider breathes deeply. The tangled planters of the present, choked with scruffy weeds and rot, give way to delicate arrangements of the past, carefully tended and groomed. There are few flowers, but some bright petals weave their way through the otherwise decisively masculine greenery that fills out Stilton’s hedges.

While Corvo is eager to speak to their host, his eyes stay on the Outsider as he walks ahead, heading directly for one of the marble planters. Reaching his hand forward, he brushes the flat of his palm along the close-cut shrub, letting the sometimes sharp, sometimes smooth, texture run over his skin again and again.

The Outsider rips a tiny leaf from the closest bush, the short stem snapping from the branch. He rolls the leaf between his fingers, until it is a mashed pulp, staining his fingers green. Once satisfied that the leaf is obliterated, he picks a second from the bush. This one he slices in half with his nail, using the precision of a surgeon. When done, he tosses both halves away.

Looking up from his hands, the Outsider must realize then that Corvo has been watching. He parts his lips but says nothing, closing them again. The Outsider shakes away whatever enthralled him so, finally finding his voice, “Use the Timepiece.”

Corvo doesn't question, pulling the mechanical anomaly from his coat. Through the glass feathers, he can see the ruined courtyard. Looking around, he makes sure none of the guards are watching too closely. Their suspicions will be aroused, if Corvo and his assistant suddenly disappear into thin air.

Corvo breathes, focuses, and they shift.

The courtyard lies in ruins once again, creeping vines binding the stonework, rather than the gently whispering leaves that so held the Outsider’s attention just a moment ago.

The Outsider leaves Corvo’s side, striding towards the veranda with sure steps. Corvo watches as he ascends the stairs, stopping under the canopy and looking up at the roof in tatters, wooden slats splintered over his head. “You can enact a great change here, Corvo. There will be...repercussions for your actions.”

When the Outsider turns his eyes back towards Corvo, they are raven-black. With no one watching them, he has no need to conceal his nature.

“What repercussions?” Corvo asks.

The Outsider smiles, “I don't know,” he holds his hands behind his back, “that is what is so wonderful about you, dear Corvo. You leave me blinded.”

Corvo scowls. To wish for clarity from the Outsider is impossible. He is always speaking only half-truths, the other half, lies of omission. Even the teasing, flirting glances, touches against Corvo’s arm all evening, the lick of the Outsider’s tongue against his fingers. Nothing more than a game. Some idle amusement to punctuate centuries of idle boredom. It is best that Corvo not mistake the Outsider’s smiles for more. No matter how latent desire might coil in Corvo’s stomach.

Climbing the stairs to the veranda, Corvo uses the Timepiece to guide him to the exact position he must stand. He walks around the Outsider, refusing to lay his hands upon his warmth. They have come to see Delilah’s ritual. They need the code to Stilton’s study to sneak into the ritual. Through the Timepiece, Corvo can see the book that contains the digits, but he can't make out the numbers. He must shift again.

“What will you do, dear Corvo?” the Outsider drolls.

There is a way. 

“Stay right there,” Corvo instructs the Outsider. Where the Outsider is standing should partially block off the view of the guards. In and out, as quickly as possible. Though this will make them vulnerable. 

It is convenient that the Outsider is taller than Corvo. Even if he is rail thin. They are both taller than Stilton, but they must be quick.

Corvo checks the positions of the guards again, waiting for the right second. It takes him three seconds to take down a man Stilton’s size. That's all he needs.

Shifting time, Corvo wraps his arm around Stilton’s neck from behind. Cutting off his air. The Outsider remains unmoved, keeping the guards from seeing the lord of the house in the arms of the Royal Protector. Corvo is efficient, fast enough that Stilton doesn't have the opportunity to scream, to struggle. Once his body goes limp, Corvo, positions his lax body in his chair, reading off the combination from Stilton’s journal. Once they shift back to the present, they can make their way to the study. Staying in the past for any length of time will be untenable now.

“Interesting,” the Outsider murmurs, once they slide from one time into the next.

The Manor is all different, in that it is completely the same. The courtyard is painted warm with lamplight, a bowl of fresh grapes on the table. What was once wreckage is now pristine. 

“Shit,” Corvo curses under his breath, grabbing the Outsider’s arm and dragging them away from the veranda, where they stand out in the open, and towards one of the massive planters, the bushes now neatly trimmed. 

There doesn't appear to be any guards about, but a servant sweeps the stone stairs leading back to the house. She hasn't noticed them, humming to herself.

“What is this?” Corvo asks, keeping his voice low as they hide behind the bushes.

“The change you wrought,” the Outsider explains.

They won't be able to move around the present with ease anymore, and they've left Stilton unconscious in the past. Corvo has to find a solution in order to return to Stilton’s study, one that doesn't end with his head on a pike.

Cautiously, he looks through the Timepiece. The guards have not yet noticed that Stilton is indisposed. They will, eventually, but they may not connect Stilton’s condition back to him. None of them directly saw Corvo incapacitate him. They saw Corvo and the Outsider enter the courtyard, but nothing more. They could just as soon miss their departure.

The single servant in the present is easily dealt with. If they get back inside the Manor, they can make their way to the study in the past. At least there, they have already established themselves as guests. “Stay here,” Corvo instructs, his plan laid out in his mind’s eye.

The Outsider, to his credit, listens, staying hidden behind the shrubbery while Corvo sneaks behind the servant, knocking her out swiftly before hiding her body among the foliage. She’ll wake confused, but unharmed.

“Let's get inside,” Corvo tells the Outsider.

Careful to avoid the servants inside, going about their duties, Corvo does not shift them back into the past until they are far enough from the courtyard to avoid suspicion. It may not be enough, but this is a fucking mess Corvo did not anticipate.

There will be time, later, to vent his frustrations. For now, Corvo must prioritize reaching the study.

This time, when the Outsider dallies a half-step behind, Corvo does not urge him forward, too consumed by the rage he tries to conceal. What else has changed? How many carefully plotted points have come undone because the Outsider pushed him to this?

Corvo should have refused the Timepiece. Like he refused the Mark. Whatever the Outsider’s intentions, he is not keen to share them with Corvo. Corvo should have never tied their threads back together. Tangled, knotted.

They take the hallway that should lead upstairs towards the study, Corvo finding his feet, but losing his breath. He can feel the Outsider close behind, his heat radiating off his slim body in waves.

Corvo senses the air shifting around his head. Guests are not allowed here; there is a guard on their heels, her boots clicking against the floor as she hurries her step. She's attempting not to make a scene, but the study has been placed explicitly off-limits by her employer.

“We’re breaking the rules, dear Corvo,” the Outsider whispers behind his head.

It's not just her, three more guards accompany her. Corvo can make out all four sets of footsteps, moving out of rhythm. They're so fucking close to the door, to the truth, Corvo can taste the Void.

Turning back now would be a disaster. He must make it through the study door. Eight, five, one, Corvo repeats to himself. The combination to open the room.

The Outsider grabs Corvo by the front of his shirt, snaking his hands underneath Corvo’s coat. He spins them around so that it is the Outsider’s back that hits the wall, Corvo showing his back to the guards. He feels totally exposed, a crude shield to protect the Outsider from the bullet that must be incoming from the guard’s gun. Then the sword slashes will be next. Corvo plants his hands on either side of the Outsider’s pale neck. While he did not sacrifice himself by choice, Corvo realizes he would have. He would have thrown himself in front of the Outsider at the slightest provocation.

Because the Outsider’s brown eyes are bright, warm and open, his wet lips slightly parted, and Corvo can hear his heart thundering in his chest. He's beautiful and afraid and Corvo will protect him. If that is what the Outsider wants.

“Kiss me,” the Outsider urges, keeping his eyes open.

Corvo obeys, throwing his lips down on top of the Outsider’s. If he is to meet the guards in combat let him at least have this pleasure first. Because the Outsider’s cruel sense of humor or not, Corvo wants this. Void, he wants to know how the Outsider tastes with honey still stuck to his teeth.

The Outsider keeps both hands fisted in the front of Corvo’s shirt, binding them together, body to body, mouth to mouth. Through parted lips, the Outsider tastes of sea-salt and sweetness, his mouth soft and welcoming, with the bite of the ocean on his tongue. And then he nips at Corvo’s bottom lip, whispering, “Stay,” when Corvo tries to pull away.

Corvo doesn't need to be told twice. The footsteps have halted, but louder than that is the sound of his own blood thudding through his ears. He's drowning in the Outsider’s taste, the warmth of their chests pressed together.

The bullets never come. Neither does the blade. And Corvo wonders if they've seeped back into the present, or the privacy of the Void. Corvo wraps his hands over the Outsider’s hips, squeezing down and pinning him to the wall. Arousal sparks over his skin, the pull of desire he can't shake until it's sated.

Dimly, he can hear the guards talk amongst themselves, their footsteps receding.

This is another one of the Outsider’s tricks, a clever ruse to serve his own ends. But Corvo cannot help how his pulse quickens, how he wishes to keep himself close to the Outsider, become drunk on this heat.

He starts to pull away again, knowing that the guards have departed. He expects to see the Outsider’s wicked, impish smile, but he's met with only half-lidded eyes and the Outsider’s mouth flush from the friction of their kisses.

“Corvo…”

Corvo brushes his impulses away the best he can, but his hands stay anchored to the Outsider’s hips, “The study, the ritual…”

“Corvo,” the Outsider repeats, “I can only hold this body coherent here. In the manor. What Delilah has done to the Void. Her disturbance, makes this possible…” Unfurling his fingers from the white-knuckled grip he kept on Corvo’s shirt, the Outsider switches to toying with the top button, flicking it between his long fingers.

“Oh,” Corvo is not sure he follows, though he suspected that the Outsider appearing in what amounts to the flesh is an anomaly.

“Corvo, do you want me?”

Corvo’s mouth goes dry.

The Outsider is joking. He must be. In a moment, he will laugh, full-chested, throwing back his head against the papered walls, his hair sticking with static and his throat exposed. He will mock Corvo.

“Because I want you.”

There is only so much resolve left in Corvo’s bones.

“The ritual…”

“Is never ending, playing on repeat, like a broken audiograph. It may stay frozen for all eternity. Certainly, long after you leave this house. When you leave me again. When I leave you. It's all the same, really.”

“You say you want me,” Corvo wants, needs clarification, some corner of stability to which he can properly cling. Dig his fingernails down and find purchase.

“Yes,” the Outsider grabs Corvo’s wrist, dragging it towards his face. He licks, long and hard across the back of Corvo’s hand, where for fifteen years Corvo wore the Outsider’s mark under gloves, leather bands, bandages, anything to keep the Overseers from witnessing what all of Dunwall already suspected. The Outsider kisses over what used to belong to him, soft lips giving way to sharp teeth, grazing over the fat arteries of Corvo’s hand.

They need a bed, a door, some measure of privacy, before Corvo shoves down the Outsider’s trousers in this wretched hallway. Though the guards might say nothing, were Corvo to fuck the Outsider right here, slam him face-first into the wall and slip his cock inside. He wants to bite flame-hot bruises into the Outsider’s lovely neck, letting Corvo’s devastation bloom against otherwise perfect skin.

The Outsider says, almost in disbelief, “You do want me.”

“Of course I do,” Corvo growls, grinding his crotch against the Outsider’s groin to prove just how tangible his want is. “Look at you.”

Smiling, the Outsider responds, “Look at you,” tracing his fingers against Corvo’s beard.

Corvo cannot help but smile in return, even when the Outsider bites at his hand again, this time sinking his incisors down. 

They shuffle together to the first unlocked door they can manage to find. Corvo's hand shakes as he tries each knob, finally swinging a door open.

It's a closet, with linens, cleaning supplies tucked neatly in one corner. This will have to do. Corvo lacks the patience for anything more. He has been patient enough.

But he cannot help but want greater things. The Outsider’s lithe body spread before him like a feast, long-limbed and pliant, but maintaining the undercurrent of subsumed wickedness. He wants to put the Outsider on his back, suck his cock and fuck his ass until he lies boneless beneath him, awash in pleasures he may have long forgotten, if he has ever experienced them at all.

The closet has to do, so Corvo pushes the Outsider inside, closing the door behind them with a too-loud snap. There's no latch from the inside, but hopefully they will not be disturbed.

“Corvo, Corvo, dear Corvo,” the Outsider litters kisses across Corvo’s face, his forehead, his cheeks, chin, lips. His hands skitter everywhere over top of Corvo’s clothing, searching for what buttons he can find. Corvo feels the Outsider’s hands shaking, unsteady, manic in anticipation.

Corvo grabs the Outsider’s wrists, trying to hold him still. Hoping to ease the thudding of his own heart inside his chest. “Let me take care you,” Corvo says, dipping his head to put his lips to the Outsider’s throat. He kisses softly at first, biting down with intent when the Outsider starts to mewl.

“You like that, don't you,” the Outsider comments between ragged breaths, “taking care of people.”

Smiling against the Outsider’s neck, Corvo drops one hand to the Outsider’s groin, squeezing down on his hardened cock, “I do. You know me well.”

“Because you are mine,” the Outsider hisses, wrapping his hand around the back of Corvo’s neck. “Marked or not, you are mine, Corvo Attano.”

Corvo brings his lips back to the Outsider’s, fusing them together as he starts to work the Outsider’s fly open, sticking one hand inside and brushing calloused fingers along the length. The Outsider opens his mouth against Corvo’s, moaning at the friction.

Inside the closet is sweltering, humidity clinging in the air. He needs the Outsider, he needs him now, his attention narrowing to this singular task.

Corvo grabs the Outsider by his hips, turning him to face the shelves. The Outsider reaches out, steadying himself with both hands, bracing for what comes next.

Tugging at the waistband of the Outsider’s trousers, Corvo pulls them down past his knees. The tails of the Outsider’s shirt hang long, covering the soft swell of his ass.

Corvo grabs hold of one cheek, pulling the Outsider apart and dancing the fingers of his other hand against the Outsider’s hole, feeling as he twitches in anticipation, bucking his hips forward and knocking into the shelves.

“Corvo.”

Dropping to his knees, Corvo lifts up the back of the Outsider’s shirt, placing too-wet kisses to the small of his back, where his hand kept resting as they moved from room to room. He brushes his tongue over the dimples there, before tracing lower against the Outsider’s tailbone.

He parts the Outsider open, using both hands now, so he can brush his tongue against the Outsider’s hole with long, wet swipes. The Outsider hisses in response, his back arching, grinding his ass against Corvo’s face. Better than that are the pleading, wordless whines that follow.

The Outsider remains responsive and Corvo snakes one of his hands around, carefully avoiding his leaking cock and instead, laying his palm flat against the Outsider’s stomach. The Outsider’s dark coat falls over his hand, but the Outsider tugs it up, digging his short nails into the back of Corvo’s hand. “Please,” the Outsider struggles, “Take it back, Corvo, please take it back.”

It takes Corvo a moment to realize that the Outsider speaks of the Mark.

The voice spilling from the Outsider’s open mouth sounds so different, so distant, broken, “Corvo...you're mine. Take it back.”

He can't. Corvo can't accept the Mark a second time. At least not now. Delilah is tangled in the Void. She is “inside” the Outsider, whatever that may mean. She may be here with them now, playing voyeur, watching with keen, dark eyes as Corvo fucks his tongue into the Outsider’s hole, opening him up for the rounded head of his cock. 

Corvo licks the salt from the Outsider’s skin, pulling back to slide a single moistened finger inside. Curling the digit, he massages the Outsider until his hips buck forward sharply, grinding himself against the shelves.

“I'm sorry,” Corvo kisses the Outsider’s skin, sliding a second finger in alongside the first. Void, is he tight, clenching down around Corvo’s fingers as he tries to spread them apart. “I don't have oil.”

“Corvo, I,” the Outsider huffs, “I don't need it. Just...now…”

Unable to deny himself any longer, Corvo pulls his fingers out. He takes a last look at the Outsider’s hole, spit-wet and tight. There's little more he can do, given the circumstances. Rising to his feet, Corvo fumbles with his belt, ready to shove his trousers down.

The Outsider spins around, his bottom lip bitten red. The whites of his eyes have receded, leaving only empty black.

Dropping to his knees in front of Corvo, he reaches forward to take hold of Corvo’s cock, curling his fingers tight around. He pumps once, twice, feeling out Corvo’s hardness, licking over his bottom lip.

Corvo doesn't have the will to stop him from wrapping his plush mouth around the head of his cock. He can only shudder in reply, giving way to a moan, welling up from deep inside his chest.

The Outsider is hurried, unskilled, trying to take too much at once and gagging when Corvo’s cock hits the back of his throat. All teeth and enthusiasm, the Outsider drools from the corners of his mouth, trying again to swallow down Corvo’s length.

His cock sitting obscenely hard between his bent legs, the Outsider already looks a wreck. Corvo cards his fingers through soft, black hair. His chest seizes up with the surrealness of the situation, a god’s wet mouth wrapped around his cock, tongue skimming along the underside, throwing him toward the brink, no matter how clumsy the Outsider’s motions may be.

The Outsider pulls back, Corvo’s cock falling from his mouth. He strokes it with one hand, “I want you inside me.”

Grabbing the Outsider by his shoulders, Corvo hoists him up off the floor. He puts the Outsider’s chest against the door, trying to bar any interruptions. Corvo kicks his feet apart, as far as they can spread, still tangled in the Outsider’s trousers. They're both still mostly dressed from the waist up, though Corvo’s buttons have come undone.

Corvo bites into the fabric of the Outsider’s jacket as he forces his way inside. Tight and not quite slick enough, the Outsider nonetheless yields, trying to reach back and grab Corvo’s hips, pulling their bodies flush together, as Corvo pushes his way through.

With his hands planted on either side of the Outsider’s head, Corvo starts to grind their bodies together, fucking into the Outsider’s hole, trying to force him to come apart in tatters as their bodies stick together.

The Outsider cranes his neck, searching for Corvo’s mouth. They meet sloppily, biting at each other's lips and driving relentlessly against each other. The door shakes with each thrust, threatening to break from its hinges. There can be no mistaking what is transpiring behind.

Pulling away, the Outsider breaks their lips apart, scratching his teeth over Corvo’s hand instead. Corvo wraps his right hand around the Outsider’s cock, teasing at the slit while his lover tears at the back of his left.

Blood seeps out from under the Outsider’s mouth, but he is quick to lap it up. Corvo doesn't even register the pain. But it must hurt, the Outsider has broken through. Wanting to leave Corvo as devastated as he can, in absence of the Mark.

“I'm yours,” Corvo whispers into the Outsider’s ear. “Do not doubt, I am yours.”

“Corvo,” as the Outsider reaches his end, he puts his forehead against the door, rattling endlessly with the thrust of their bodies. He spills over Corvo’s hand, leaving ropes of sticky-slick cum against the painted wood.

Corvo empties into the Outsider’s hole, his orgasm seizing at his throat and throwing lamplight behind his eyes. He wraps his arm around the Outsider’s waist, keeping them bound together until he finishes, his legs already weak. The Outsider kisses against the open wounds he has left on Corvo’s hand.

“You'll have to cover it,” the Outsider jokes, still breathless, warm in Corvo’s arms.

Corvo pulls back the Outsider’s hair from his nape, kissing against the base of his skull, holding onto this moment as long as he can manage. Time, magic is broken here. But everything changes.

Managing to turn around, the Outsider slumps against the door. He takes Corvo’s hand in both of his, “Please, 

“I can't,” it's true, “not now.” He presses his sweaty forehead against the Outsider’s, “soon. I promise.”

The Outsider scoffs, but does not ask again. “You should make your way to the ritual.”

“You're not coming?”

“The Void, I told you it was leaking. The hole is in the study. It will smash this body to pieces. I cannot enter.” He twines his fingers in between Corvo’s shorter ones, holding hands in a gesture that, even now, feels painfully intimate. “This is where we must part ways.”

Corvo tries to find the strength to argue. He needs a moment more. He needs thousands of seconds such as these, to collect in his tattered hands and hide in his coat, to cherish.

“Come to my shrines, Corvo,” the Outsider starts to button Corvo’s shirt back up. “Even without the Mark, I'll….I’ll come for you. Always, dear Corvo.”

Outside the door, Corvo can hear two guards waiting. Probably to escort them from the manor. Even Stilton must have limits to what can transpire within his walls without consequences. Then again, he did agree to hold Delilah’s ritual here.

“Use the Timepiece,” the Outsider urges.

“Will you disappear?” Corvo anticipates the exact moment they must part. He loathes it.

“No. I can walk you to the study door.”

Corvo takes the Timepiece in his hands, returning them to the present. In the past, the guards will find only an empty closet. It will make them question their own sanity.

The hall to Stilton’s study is empty. Corvo and the Outsider walk in silence, still hand in hand. In Corvo’s other hand, he holds the Timepiece. He’ll need to shift back to use the old combination.

Before he does, he lets go of the Outsider’s hand, holding the Timepiece in front of his face. It won't work outside Stilton’s manor. Corvo already understands as much. This may be his last opportunity to examine it in detail.

Inside the metal cage, delicate and sharp, the bone fragment looks impossibly light, as if hovering inside its steel prison. Corvo assumed at first it was whale. But now, he knows better. He knows what this magic costs.

“It's yours,” Corvo whispers, turning his gaze from the Timepiece to the Outsider. The whites of his eyes have reappeared. “It's yours.”

The Outsider grins softly, crossing his arms over his chest. He's pleased that Corvo worked it out on his own. 

“Worth the sacrifice,” the Outsider promises.

The world goes gray. The Outsider is returning to the Void. Corvo lets go of the Timepiece, letting it hover in midair.

Whatever magic the Timepiece contains is running out, fueled by old bones of a young boy. One who never tasted fruit or wine or honey cakes. Who never tasted love.

“You're mine,” Corvo realizes.

“Always,” the Outsider promises.

Color returns to the world.

Corvo enters the combination into the lock on the study door, trying to quiet his thundering heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos very much appreciated! Thank you for taking the time to read.
> 
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> [Tumblr](http://Imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)


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